Staining the Sheets Impure
by Artichokie
Summary: In desperate need of emotional release, Bellatrix turns to the most unexpected person. In the harsh aftermath, however, she sees the error in her judgement and responds in the only way she knows how.


**Staining the Sheets Impure  
**_By Artichokie_

Please, if you read, leave some feedback. I'm always curious about what people think. Thanks!

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The burning in her arm started without a warning. Dulled by her current state of awareness—or lack of it, she acknowledged groggily—she tried to push it aside. She'd worked so hard to get to this moment of peace that she hung on to it tenaciously. The pain would not abate, however, and the sting only grew worse. It was uncomfortable now instead of merely annoying. Still, she refused to bow down to it.

Without opening her eyes, she turned on her side and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders. There was a chill in the air; she could feel it through the warm cotton threads. A fierce wind howled beyond the brick walls of the room she was in, and an angry wind beat against the stained glass window. The outside world was commanding her attention, and still the pain in her arm would not cease. The damage was done; sleep would not come back to claim her.

With a frustrated sigh, Bellatrix opened her eyes and glared at the fuzzy wall furthest from the bed. Darkness filled the sparsely furnished room, but a glimmer of light seeped in from the roadside lamp beyond the single window. She could make out the chair next to the door on the wall opposite of her, albeit vaguely—but it was enough.

She pushed herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cool air against her bare back made her shiver. Startled, she clutched the cotton blanket to her chest, momentarily blindsided by the fact that she had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten there. She was normally more cautious, more aware… the strain she'd put on herself over the past weeks had finally caught up to her.

She glanced down to her arm and spied the cause of her pain. The mark on her arm, the skull and snake tattoo she proudly wore, glowed. He had summoned; she had known it the moment she'd fully awakened. Her loyalty demanded she go, and that was enough for her. Dropping the blanket, she absently rubbed her arm as she looked for her cloak.

"Bella?" a familiar voice called from behind her. She froze, her hand covering the dark mark branding her arm. Suppressing a groan, she closed her eyes as memories flooded back to her. Matthew—she was in Matthew's bedroom. She'd come to him last night needing to get her frustration out. The mission she'd been working on for the past several days had driven the last of her patience—what little she actually possessed of it—out of her system. Although it had been successful, dealing with those halfwits was enough to drive any person mad. No discretion, no direction—she had had a hard enough time avoiding tripping over them as they continued to trip over each other.

Turning, she pulled the blanket back up against her chest and shoved arm beneath the cover. The less he knew the fewer questions he asked—and that was best for everyone. He had propped himself up with one arm as he lazily lounged on his side of the bed. His short, dark brown hair was disheveled, and his green eyes were concealed with drooping eyelids. His beautiful face, full of youth and innocence, had a giant question mark drawn all over it. She normally stayed the night without any interruption, but this couldn't be helped. Times were about to change; she knew it, but she doubted he did. He was so oblivious, so… _Muggle._

Disgust surged up into her throat. She had tried to suppress that thought, but it came back to haunt her. How desperate she had been to taint herself in the arms of a Muggle, but she had. He had been so easy to seduce, so trusting. It had been a mere three weeks since their first tryst, but Bellatrix had been gone for half of that time. She had needed someone who wouldn't recognize her and grow suspicious with some of her habits, and he had been that. He'd never questioned her absences, never questioned her unusual choice of attire or habits. She was never a fool enough to carry about her wand around him, but she kept it concealed in the sleeve of her cloak she always wore. She was always prepared for the worst… except this.

He looked absolutely Muggle lying next to her, and her skin began to crawl. All desire to lay about in this bed any longer fled. She continued to look at him, her mouth restraining against the sneer that lurked behind her teeth. He was delectable, she'd give him that, and more exciting between the sheets than Rodolphus had ever been. He was a Muggle, and that made him detestable. Now that the thought had entered her brain, it had taken root and wouldn't let go. She couldn't do this with him anymore.

"Is something the matter?" he asked quietly, reaching up to stroke the exposed flesh of her arm above the blanket. She tried not to flinch, but failed. Turning away, she planted her feet firmly on the cold floor and rested her arms on her knees.

"I have to go," she told him flatly. Standing, she let the blanket fall from her body, oblivious to her lack of attire. The cold air punctured her skin, but she had gone numb. The only thing she could feel was the increasing sting of her dark mark, and even that she failed to hide.

Bellatrix found her cloak lying haphazardly in the lone chair. She remembered gently setting it there last night when she'd snuck into his bedroom. That had to have been a mere two hours ago, she realized with an airy laugh. It hadn't taken long at all for her to grow weary of this room.

The bed groaned behind her as she slipped the cloak over her body, the thickness of the fabric doing nothing to warm her. Matthew had gotten up, his footfalls heavy against the wooden floorboards. In a minute he would embrace her, she knew, and she closed her eyes in resignation. She crossed her arms over her chest as a barrier against him. Sure enough, strong arms came around her waist, and his chin rested against her shoulder. Warmth radiated from his body and seeped into hers. A chill ran down her spine, both from the temperature change and the repugnance of his touch.

"When will I see you again?" he asked softly, his breath whispering against her cheek. She turned her nose up and shrugged, an attempt to shake him off of her, but she knew he saw it as a response to his question.

"Who's to say?" she replied enigmatically as she walked out of his embrace. "My time is not my own anymore." Her arms fell to her sides in heavy ribbons. A small clatter, a stick hitting a heavy wood, echoed through the room. Nonplussed, Bellatrix looked down to see her wand rolling along the wooden planes of the floor. It came to rest against her bare foot, its sleek surface caressing the ends of her toes.

Before she could react, Matthew had bent over and picked up her wand. Her jaw clenched as his Muggle hands sullied what only she should have touched. It was hers; he shouldn't have it. _But you shouldn't have been so clumsy,_ a voice whispered to her. She ignored it and turned to face him.

"A stick?" he asked with a chuckle. "What good is a stick going to do you? It isn't even heavy enough to do damage!" He held it close to his face, as if trying to figure out some secret behind the simple object. He would never find out; its workings were far too complicated for his simple mind to comprehend. A grin stole across her face.

"Not heavy enough to do damage, you say?" Her voice was light, brighter than the light the dawn would bring in another hour. She took a step towards him, her smile firmly in place. This, she decided, would be amusing. "But does an object have to be heavy to do damage? Aren't there other ways to inflict pain?" She took another step, a hand reaching out to trace the lines of his hard chest. His attention was on her, no longer the wand. Perfect.

Placing her hand flat against his chest, she pressed against it until he took a step back. He was so easy to lead. Her smile deepened.

"Jabbing tends to be painful when it's not intended to be pleasurable," she enunciated slowly as she led him back towards the bed. "Aim just right and that _harmless_ little stick could blind you forever. Now, wouldn't that be agonizing?" His knees hit the edge of the bed and he collapsed down against it. Removing her hand from his chest, she gently wrapped her fingers around the wand and held it. She leaned over him, her face coming close to his. She could see unease in their depths, but not worry. Never worry.

"Would you like to see what kind of damage this stick is capable of?" Her nose touched his; his breath mingled with hers. She touched his lips with her tongue briefly, refusing to gag at the taste of his impureness. He shivered. Bellatrix was aware of her power, knew she had aroused him. Still, he didn't answer her question; his wariness had begun to grow—but he still wasn't anxious.

She tugged the wand out of his grasp and moved away from him, swaying her hips seductively. Pausing at the door, she turned around to face him again. His upper body was leaning back, supported by his elbows against the mattress. His green eyes were glued upon her—upon the stick, she thought with a grin. She stroked it gently, her gaze centered on his face. He was afraid. Not just wary, but afraid. The tension that floated almost imperceptibly in the room finally made it into his pathetic brain. An amused grin slashed across her face.

"Whether or not you want to see, Matthew, you shall get an example," she told him gaily. Her grin turned sadistic and she stopped stroking the wand. Without warning, she flung out her arm and shrieked, "_Avada Kedavra!_" A brilliant flash of green light illuminated the room far better than that useless Muggle contraption outside ever could that night. As quickly as it came, it was gone, and all was still.

Bellatrix lowered her wand and stared at her quarry. He had fallen to the bed, his arms flailed out to his sides. He didn't move. She walked over to him and stood next to the bed. His green eyes stared lifelessly up at the ceiling. Surprise was etched into them, but the fear was gone.

He really was a gorgeous man. She'd been a game she'd never allowed herself to play, and despite the tainted blood that had flown through his veins, she didn't regret herself the diversion. She ran a fingernail along his cooling cheek, a _tut_-ing noise escaping her mouth. She would miss how malleable he'd been. Always concerned about how she felt. He really was too soft.

The burning in her arm, a pain she'd forgotten about in her distraction, came back tenfold. She winced against the onslaught of it, but understood the importance of its existence. It was time she left. Bellatrix dropped her arm and turned away from the body. A sigh escaped her as she made her way across the room. She felt alive for the moment, but then again, she'd always felt alive after a killing. Pathetic beings were useless to her and better off cold. A harsh cackle escaped her lips.

She made it to the street, the cold rain beating against her bear head. Her cloak would be soaked within seconds, her black hair already hanging down her back in mushy clumps. It would be another miserable morning, but she was growing used to it. Pointing her wand skyward, she shouted proudly, "_Morsmordre!_" before she disappeared with a barely audible sound.


End file.
